Summary: An AU in which Patroclus is not Achilles' cousin, but rather a captive whom Achilles has rescued and claimed. The early development of their relationship in this new context, slash not intended. Set approx. two years pre-movie. Rating for some adult themes, but nothing explicit. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: As usual, I own nothing and no one.
Author's Note: Before posting chapter two here, I would like to thank everyone who's showed interest in the beginnings of this fic, and especially to Lauren is me, ILoveVampireDiaries, & TwilightEyes85 for reviewing. I hope the update is sufficiently satisfying for your curiosities. Enjoy!
Chapter 2
Later that day, a third man joined them. Patroclus was struck at once by how very strong he looked, and also by the man's golden locks of hair which were a somewhat lighter color than his own. The newcomer quickly looked to where his prisoner lay and caught his eye, steadily returning the stare. Patroclus' heart pounded, yet he found he could not look away. Whoever this man might be, there was something compelling about him – as though his mere presence commanded enough authority to bend an army to his will.
Eudorus obviously knew him, though, for he joined the golden-haired stranger on the far side of the tent where they bent their heads close together, speaking in hushed tones. And Patroclus had no doubt that he was the topic of their conversation. When at length they broke apart, the new man stepped forward while nodding for Eudorus to take a seat off to one side.
He then fixed his unwavering blue gaze on the captive and addressed him. "You can relax, young one. We mean you no harm, but I do expect you to answer my questions." He paused a moment for that statement to sink in. "What is your name?"
Patroclus did not need long to consider. He so badly wanted to be bold and defiant, but the memory of his torment was too fresh. Fear of its repetition still controlled him, even though his new captors had not harmed him. Yet.
Finally, drawing in a deep breath, he told the truth. "Patroclus – son of Menoetius."
The tawny warrior solemnly nodded his greeting. "Patroclus, I am Achilles, son of Peleus."
The youth blinked, as though doubting he had heard correctly. "Achilles? You're Achilles of the Myrmidon?"
Obviously pleased that his new captive had heard of him, Achilles exchanged amused glances with Eudorus and smiled. "Yes, I am he; and I'm told you've already met Eudorus."
But Patroclus, for his part, was equally awed and intimidated by this revelation. He had heard many stories about Achilles, of course, as the man's pride and volatile temper were almost as legendary as his unmatched prowess in battle. In fact, he was often said to be quite ruthless, slaughtering men effortlessly and without a second thought. Surely Patroclus would never be able to escape from such a man – much less resist him, if his intentions should prove comparable to those of his previous jailors.
"How old are you?" Achilles asked next, rousing the youth from his thoughts.
"Fifteen," was the subdued response, and then a very timid, "What are you going to do with me?"
"Right now, there is only one thing that needs to be done."
The warlord gestured to his colleague, and Patroclus' panic returned in earnest when both men strode toward him with purpose in their steps. Achilles knelt at his side, Eudorus down by his feet. The boy's heart raced; this couldn't be good! He didn't have long to contemplate his fate, though, before Achilles held out a strip of leather in front of his face.
"Bite down on this; you'll need it."
The youth's eyes widened, horrified. "What are you doing?" Whatever it was, there was no way he would be able to stop them.
But Eudorus calmly explained, "The old skin needs to be removed from the burns on your feet to promote healing. It will be very painful, but it is necessary."
Understanding and apprehension alike slowly dawned on Patroclus as he obediently opened his mouth without another word to accept the proffered strap from Achilles' hand.
Eudorus unwound the bandages around the boy's feet to begin his task, while Achilles held his legs steady near the knee. This left Patroclus' upper body essentially unrestrained, but there was nothing he could do with the freedom. For he could scarcely sit upright without assistance, and his captors knew it. They just wanted to prevent him from kicking out with his legs and causing more damage either to himself or to his caretaker.
Meanwhile, Patroclus took full advantage of the leather between his teeth, using it to stifle his screams as the intensity of the pain produced both sweat and tears. When the chore at last was done, Eudorus dressed the burns in fresh bandages, and Achilles bathed his captive's flushed face with a cool, damp cloth. But the youth's feet still hurt him so badly that he barely noticed.
"It will get easier each time," Achilles attempted to assure him, but that was hardly how Patroclus perceived it.
Each time? he thought woefully. You mean we'll have to do this again?
The warrior then held a cup of water to his lips, which he swallowed out of reflex.
"Close your eyes and relax," Achilles urged him, and it was so blessedly easy to obey. The pain had utterly drained Patroclus of whatever energy or adrenaline he possessed, pulling his eyelids down and dragging him into unconscious even while his captor was still bent over him.
"Patroclus?"
Now awake after a few hours of exhausted slumber, the youth looked up from where he lay and saw Eudorus coming toward him with some black clothing in his hands.
"These are for you," the older man explained succinctly. "They'll be a bit loose on you for a while, but thankfully you're tall enough to fit into them."
He then proceeded to help Patroclus into the new garments, in spite of how the boy would jerk away every time incidental contact was made against his skin.
Eudorus pursed his lips in mild irritation. "You know you don't have to be afraid of me; Achilles would have my head if I hurt you."
Patroclus did not seem overly consoled; if anything, he appeared even more frightened and confused than he had twenty-four hours ago. "But then what does Achilles want with me?"
"I truly do not know, child. But although my commander can be a confusing man at times, he is hardly cruel. Not like the men who took you."
"Can I trust him?"
The boy's eyes begged for honesty, and Eudorus sighed, wishing he could offer a better answer to that innocent question. "That is something you must learn for yourself."
With such little reassurance to be had, it was extremely difficult for Patroclus to relax and receive treatment in the same tent where he had been tortured and abused not long before. Every shape and shadow about the place caused him to spook like a horse at thunder, and he was constantly anxious at night in the dark, even long after Achilles and Eudorus had gone to sleep.
A whipping rainstorm the next day confined all of them indoors, stranding Patroclus alone with Achilles, since Eudorus was off seeing to some of the other Myrmidons. The two of them seemed to take turns staring at one another from across the tent.
For his part, Achilles instinctively felt compelled to care for this tortured child and protect him from further harm; but he wanted more than that, as well. For some reason he could not explain, Achilles was determined to truly know the boy and win his trust – even if his chosen methods for doing so were somewhat less than conventional.
Patroclus wanted to squirm under Achilles' constant scrutiny, but movement only resulted in more pain. There was no point in pretending to be brave now. He absently rubbed at the purple bruises on his wrists from where he had been bound. At least thus far Achilles had not seen fit to restrain him so intensely; there was no need.
But Patroclus also wondered at the man's apparently insatiable interest in him. Hadn't he suffered enough already? Why couldn't the great warlord simply kill him and end his misery, or at least sell him off into an obscure life of slavery? He hated just waiting like this, not knowing what to expect from a man as infamously unpredictable as Achilles. The warrior rarely went out of his way to placate the boy's fears of him, but neither had he given his prisoner any legitimate reason to doubt his intentions.
Achilles must have noticed how uptight his captive was. "You should get some more rest while you can. It will be a long and difficult journey back to my home in Phthia."
"You're taking me with you?" The youth sounded surprised, but had he really expected anything different?
"Of course, I am; I shouldn't have gone to all this trouble if I meant to just leave you behind. I expect you and I will be sharing each other's company for quite some time."
That last remark stirred up a confused flurry of emotions inside Patroclus' stomach, yet he decided now would be as good a time as ever to employ some shameless begging. "Please just let me go; let me go home."
Achilles' response was rather harsh. "Go where? You have no home now, and no way of getting there even if you did."
"But why force me to stay with you?" his prisoner entreated. "We are not enemies."
"No, but you are an orphan."
They boy flinched as though he had been physically struck. "You don't know that," he whispered.
"Yes, actually, I do. I know a massacre when I see one, Patroclus, and those brigands left no one alive behind them as they tore through villages like yours. Eudorus and I were shocked even to find you as a survivor. Besides," Achilles went on, "by all laws and rights, you are my captive now; and you have no say in this matter."
Patroclus did not bring up the topic again.
Achilles delayed their departure another day longer than originally intended, largely to ensure that Patroclus' fever had subsided in full; but eventually the morning dawned when it was time to be on their way. Now that Patroclus finally looked so peaceful in his sleep, Achilles almost hated to wake him; for surely the youth had not slept so soundly through the night. Even now, his thin cheeks were damp with tears. But he had to be roused, for it was time to leave.
He knelt down to gently shake him by the shoulder. "Patroclus, wake up. We're going."
The boy's eyelids fluttered open, and his breath caught in his throat when he realized who was next to him. But he offered no resistance when Achilles removed the blanket from his back and picked him up without another word. It was then, nestled in Achilles' arms for the first time, that Patroclus realized this man was every bit as strong as one might expect based on his appearance. Even healthy, there would be no way Patroclus could contend with him; Achilles made the effort of carrying him seem no greater than carrying a toddler.
Though he made no announcement to his troops, Achilles held his company to a considerably slower speed than they might normally travel. He also had Patroclus situated sideways in front of him so that both of his legs hung down on one side of the horse, hoping it would help ease some of the inevitable discomfort; but it was not enough to counteract what was easily a week's worth of abuse.
The pain was unbearable. Despite the awful jarring motion of the horse, Patroclus closed his eyes and bit down on his lip until it bled to keep from crying out. The effort of simply resisting the constant agony was exhausting, until eventually even his pride was conquered, and his head bumped weakly against Achilles' shoulder. But still he held his mouth shut for fear of drawing unwanted attention to himself.
Patroclus looked like he was on the verge of being literally sick from pain, though, by the time the Myrmidons stopped to dismount for the night. And only then, when Achilles finally saw that ashen face, did he realize he had still ridden much too hard that day. Uttering a vicious curse that was directed entirely at himself, the warlord very carefully lifted the injured teen from his horse; Patroclus did not even have the strength now to wrap his arms around his captor's neck like he'd done that morning.
"I'm sorry," Achilles murmured into the boy's ear as he carried him toward a recently-constructed shelter. And even amidst the pain that rang in his brain, Patroclus could detect the sincerity and concern in those words. Not that it mattered, he thought bitterly. The gods only knew he didn't need pity now; he needed rest!
"You are very brave," Achilles went on softly, hoping the boy would hear and understand him despite his anguish. "But it was not necessary; you should have said something."
What good would it have done? Patroclus wondered distantly. And yet, there was something about hearing a kind, sympathetic voice that seemed to finally liberate the expression of his suffering, and a pitiful whimper escaped his lips even as he was still held in Achilles' arms. The tears followed once they were inside the shelter and out of sight from the other Myrmidons; Patroclus couldn't have possibly stopped them now, nor did he care to try. Achilles didn't seem to mind either as he gently laid the boy on the ground; he was too busy hating himself for having let it come to this in the first place.
Once free of his captor's hold, Patroclus wrapped his arms around his throbbing abdomen, groaning, while Achilles looked on and silently cursed his own stupidity. Evidently he had not waited long enough before departing, and it could not go on like this if he expected to get his new captive home alive. But what could possibly be done now to alleviate such pain? Achilles knew there was not much. Since moving the boy again in this state would be something akin to cruelty, he simply covered Patroclus with a couple of furs and withdrew to seek Eudorus.
By the time he found his second, the warlord's decision had been irrevocably made.
"Eudorus, I need you to take the men tomorrow morning and lead them the rest of the way to Phthia."
Although no stranger to his master's whims, Eudorus still raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Why, my lord? What about you?"
"The men are anxious to be home, and they would have gladly ridden even faster than we did today. But Patroclus cannot yet travel at such a pace. I plan to stay here with him for a day before setting out again, to give him a bit of time to recover from today's ride. Then I shall have to go very slowly for his sake, probably stopping frequently so he can have the chance to rest."
"I will stay behind to travel with him, if you like."
Achilles actually cracked a smile at his friend's offer. "Thank you, Eudorus, but there is no need. I am confident you take care of everything back home for a couple of weeks, just as I can handle anything that might happen here along the road."
Patroclus was either asleep or passed out from pain and exhaustion when Achilles stepped back into his tent; he truly could not tell which. The warrior eventually went to bed himself, but he woke in the middle of the night to the fresh sound of crying – of sobbing would have been a more accurate description. He listened for a moment and frowned; those were not the tears of mere physical discomfort.
The child was still right where his captor had left him, so Achilles went and sat near his side. He did not know if the boy had heard him coming.
"Patroclus? Are you all right?" It was a silly thing to ask, of course, but what else was there to say?
The boy tried unsuccessfully to swallow his ragged, gasping sobs into hiccups. "My parents," he finally choked. "All my friends. Everyone I knew…"
Ah, so that explained the tears. "Is this the first time you've truly grieved for them?"
Patroclus nodded mutely in response; he had never really had a chance to mourn before now.
"You should weep for yourself, too," Achilles suggested gently, "for your own misfortune. There is no shame in that."
But the boy shook his head in abject misery. "I just want to go home."
"We are going home."
"You are." Patroclus said nothing after that, for he had already seen that Achilles would win any argument between them. Instead, the bitter intensity of his tears returned, and this time the youth made no attempt to hinder them.
Observing his captive in quiet pity, Achilles longed to offer some sort of consolation, yet he hesitated for fear of not knowing how any such gesture might be received. Ultimately, he settled for laying a hand on the child's bony shoulder, which seemed agreeable enough to both of them. Patroclus didn't try to shrug off the touch, but he might have just been too tired or resigned at the moment to care.
The Myrmidon warlord was content to sit there patiently until his prisoner finally cried himself to sleep, at which point Achilles lifted the boy in his arms and carried him to his bed. They weren't going anywhere tomorrow, after all, so he could withstand the loss of an hour's sleep.